Dedication

foranyoneterrified

thatitwon’tgetbetter.

thesepages

areproofthatitwill.

Contents
Cover
TitlePage
Dedication
Author’sNote
TheDarknessFalls
TheNightPersists
TheDawnBreaks
TheSunRises
Acknowledgments
AbouttheAuthor
BackAd
Copyright
AboutthePublisher

Author’sNote

thisbookwasnoteasytowrite.asaresult,itmaynotbeeasytoread,either.

poetrystartedoutasadiaryforme.so,atthebeginningofthewritingprocess

forthisbook,ImadeapacttomyselfthatIwouldbecompletelyhonest.that

meansnothingiscensoredout.Italkaboutmentalillness,self-harm,suicide,

recovery,sexualassault,abusiverelationships,violence,andotherissuesthat

may not be the easiest to swallow. you may relate to pieces near the

beginning.youmayrelatetopiecesneartheend.oryoumaynotrelatetoany

pieces at all. whatever the case, know that it’s completely normal to be

overwhelmed by some of these topics. I know I was at first. I still am

sometimes. take care of yourself if you need to. put down the book if you

needto.reachouttomeifyouneedto.yoursafetyisalwaysimportant.so,do

whateveryouneedtodo.askingforhelpisnotweak,Ipromise.

it’shuman.

thereisnothing

morepowerful

thanagirl

withapen

whoisbraveenough

touseit.

TheDarknessFalls

somepeoplehavenightmares

ofbeingnakedinpublic,

ofhavingeveryinchofskin

ondisplay

fortheworldtosee.

thatusedtobemynightmaretoo.

butstill

hereIam.

flipthesepages.

takealook.

lost:

happiness.

chappedlips,

littlecrookedteeth,

alwayssmiling.

lastseeneatingicecream,

dancingtobackgroundmusic,

chocolatedrippingdownherchin.

iffound:

pleasetellher

Imissher.

Idon’tdance

anymore.

Icanpointtotheveryfirsttime

Ifeltaloneinacrowd.

Iwaseleven.

itwassummertimeand

mythoughtstastedsour,

andIrememberbeingconfused

becausebeforethen

theyhadalwaysbeensweet.

itwaslikedippingmytoe

intoapoolofsadness,

oblivioustothefact

thatIwouldsoonbesubmerged.

Idon’tknowwhoIam.

I’mtryingtolookatmyself

inthebathroommirror,

buttheshower’srunning

andtheglassisallfoggy.

I’vespentsomuchtime

tryingtobecomewhoIshouldbe

thatIlostmyselfalongtheway.

IcannottellyouwhoIloved,

orwhere,orwhen,orwhy;

Idon’trememberfirstencounters,

onlyeachgoodbye.

Ipushawayafeelingpassed

onceIknowit’sgone.

it’sfartoopainful,onceatdusk,

tothinkbackonthedawn.

Iamcrowded

inanemptyroom.

Iguessit’sthesilence,

theemptiness,

thenothingness.

itpushesonme.

ittellsmeyoutakeuptoomuch

space.

Ireply,

Iknow.

inmydreams

Ifeelhishandsonme.

whenIwakeup,

Icheckfornewbruises

shapedlikehisfingertips.

wheneverIwalkbyhim

Iinstinctivelydragdownmysleeves,

pullmyhoodietighter.

thebodyhestained

isalwaysondisplay.

Iscrubmyskin

alittletoohard

intheshower,

tryingtogethimoffme,

tryingtoshedanycellonmybody

hemighthavetouched.

sometimesIscratch.

sometimesIpeel.

sometimesIbleed.

thisisthepoem

Ineverwantedtowrite.

becausewritingmakesitreal,

concrete,

immortal.

andIdon’twantthismemory

onpaper.

Ionlywantiterased.

Ihavecometotheconclusionthat

Iamawalkingparadox,

amismatchedmixofinnocenceandexperience,

abottleofoilandwater

constantlybeingshaken.

Ioverthinkthedetails.

Imissthebigpicture.

Iamaperfectionist.

Iamaprocrastinator.

Ihavestrongopinions.

Iamindecisive.

Iamstubborn.

Iapologizetoomuch.

it’snotphysicallypossible

tobelikethis.

thereisareasonoilandwaterseparate

nomatterhowmanytimes

youshakethembacktogether.

Iamblackandwhitedots

inabodyshadedgray,

andIdon’tknowwhichpart

ofmyselfisthetruthanymore.

mercury:

mymoodchanges

toofastformybrain

tokeepupwith.

sometimes,Iamokay.

Ireallyam.

talking,

working,

laughing.

thensuddenly,

daytradesplaceswithnight

andmyneuronsfreeze.

Istoptalking.

Istopworking.

Istoplaughing.

allIcando

ispraythefrostbite

doesn’treachmyheart

beforethesunrisesagain.

thecarouselgoesroundandround,alovelyplacetoplay.

whatpicture-perfectinnocencetofitthisautumnday.

butnoonetellsthechildrenthatthespinningneverslows,

thatwe’realltiedtoourhorses;lockedinatourtoes.

noonetellsofdesperatemoments,dizzyandinsane,

thisblissfulshowofignorancenolongerjustagame.

blindedbythepastelpaintandchariotsofgold,

theslantedtruthofchildhoodisallthatthey’vebeentold.

leaveyourbrainatthedoor,mydear.

fromhereon,weareallheartandsoul.

takeoffyourshoes,watchyourstep,

don’ttouchanythingtoofragile.

Iambrittleandeasytobreak:

becareful.

thatway,whenyouleave,

youcanleavewithoutatrace.

thatway,whenyou’regone,

Iwon’tbe

hauntedbyyourmudtracks

andfingerprints.

Ican’thandleanothermesstocleanup.

inaworldofcoveredears

andmouthstapedshut,

thisismycryforhelp.

isthesoundofmyfingertips

brushingthekeyboard

loudenough?

canyouhearme?

I’vebeguntocensoryourname

likeacurseword.

inmyphone,

yournumberisunder

theonewhobrokeme.

usingyourname

wouldofferyoupity

andsympathy

andunderstanding.

usingyourname

wouldmakeyouhuman

whenyouhaveonlyeverbeen

aheartlessnightmare

tome.

googlesearchhistory:

howtocuresadness

chronicsadness

whatisitcalledwhenyoufeelmorenumbthansad

whydon’tIsmileanymore

howoftendoestheaveragepersonsmile

cansmilingmakeyouhappy

whyaren’tIhappy

depressionsymptoms

anxietysymptoms

suicidehotline

howtocuredepressionandanxiety

howtocuredepressionandanxietywithoutmedication

whattodoifmyantidepressantsdon’twork

whattodoiftherapydoesn’twork

aresomepeoplesadtheirwholelives

whattodoifyou’renothappyinyourownbody

whattodoifyou’renothappy

whattodoifyou’retriggered

alternativestoself-harm

suicidehotline

howbaddoesithavetobetobeconsidereddepression

suicidehotline

howtostopthethoughts

howtostopthesadness

howtobehappy

Iamgoingstir-crazy

insidemyskull,

peelingoffthewallpaper

withshort,bittennails.

thereareno

emergencyexitshere:

Iamleftto

clawmyselfout.

there’sbloodonthebathroomflooragain,

mymotherwouldbeashamed.

myheadistheonethat’sguilty,

butmysoulisalwaysblamed.

threemonthsolder,threemonthsclean,

IthoughtthatImightwin.

butonceagainIfindmyself

digginggravesintomyskin.

noamountofpromises

canmakeorbreakthefight;

donotbelievethatIamwell

fromthesonnetsthatIwrite.

it’ssurvivalofthefittest,

noteveryonewillthrive.

we’repushedsofarthatwegoagainst

theinstincttosurvive.

thesewordsare

notpolished.

thesewordsare

notpure.

thesewordsare

venompurgedfrommyveins

andpouredout

onpaper.

thesewords

are

poeticpoison.

IcowerasIwalkthroughthehallway

likeIamlostinthewoods—

dodgingthepeople,

dodgingthetrees,

dodgingthelurkingfaces

behindeachcorner.

Iamthelittlegirlineveryfable,

everyfolktale.

thepowerlesschild,

theinnocentface,

redhoodupandbasketinhand.

weallknowwhatcomesnext.

Icatchaglimpseofthewolfintheshadows.

theglowingeyes,

thecurlinglip,

thepointedteethreadytoattack—

andIrealizeheiswearingyourclothing.

youhaveturnedmeintoprey.

andyouhavealwaysbeenthepredator.

venus:

canyouhearmyvertebrae

crackingunderthestress?

canyouseemyshoulderscavingin

undertheexpectations?

canyoufeelmyskinsplitting

andthemagmapouringout?

Iamnearingtheinevitable.

myspinewillgiveout.

myshoulderswillsnap.

myskinwillbreakdown.

Icanonly

withstandsomuch.

youheldmywrists,proppedmeup,andmovedmeonyourstage;

allmylifehasbeenascriptandyouwroteeverypage.

yousetabackdrop,paintedsmiles,hidwhatwaswithin;

comeone,comeall,andseehernow:thedollinhumanskin!

someoneonceaskedme

whatIwoulddo

iffindinghappinessmademe

unabletowriteanymore.

andtheanswer

issimple:

Iwouldgladly

neverpickupanotherpen.

whereisthehappy?

inelementaryschool,

Iwouldburstoutlaughing

inthemiddleofclass.

Iwasloudandoutgoing,

messy

andfunny

andhappy.

butsomewherealongthelineIlostit.

thefreedom.

theinnocence.

sometimesIimaginemyyoungerself

andIworryshewouldn’trecognizeme.

shelooksupatmewithpigtails.

therearegapsinhermouth

wherewigglyteethhavefallenout.

whereisthehappy?

shesays,

herbigbrowneyesopenwide.

andIneverhaveananswer.

Iworksohard

tobethehero.

butthenIsabotagemyself,

pickingoutpoisonedapples

andeatingthemlikecandy.

Iamtheantagonistic

protagonist

ofmyownstory.

darknessawaitsme;Ihearitwhisperingmyname,

callingmebacktotheplaceIseemtobelong.

mostpeopleareafraidofitsvoice.

notme.

thissteadysadness,

thisnumbnessthatholdsmesweetlylikealover,

itrunsthrougheacharterylikethelifethatneverwas.

ifthisismydemise,thenpreparemeforpeacefuldestruction.

Igiveandgive

andgive,

evenwhenithurtsme—

evenifthey’vehurtme—

untilthere’snothingleft

ofmeatall.

sacrificeisnotasglamorous

asit’smadeouttobe.

copy

imprintthosearoundyou

ontoyourself.

becomeasculptureofbodyparts,

amyriadofunfamiliarfingersandteeth.

pickandchoosewhoyouwanttobe,

andstandastheirmirror.

paste

takeamodelfromamagazine

andwearherlikeashield.

giveyourselftimeforthegluetodry,

lettheeyelashesstick

andthespotcreamharden.

rememberyourskin’stape

isnotdouble-sided.

cut

ripyourselfapartwhenyoufeel

yourpixelatedskinisfailingyou.

digbacktothebottom,

desperatelytryingtofindyourselfagain.

slashtheimperfectionaway.

quit

reachthepointwhereyourscreenisfrozen.

youhavetriedtoohardtowaititout.

allyouareisablankpaperwith

bitsofplagiarizedpieces

bandagingbrokenmargins.

itonlytakesonepressofafinger

toshutitalldown.

“whatyoucando

whenyoupresscontrol”

rightnow,Iamaroughdraft;

Iamheretobe

revisitedandrevised.

hardasItry,

Iamnotthegirlpoetsspeakof.

Iamnotmadeupofoceantides

andmyheartisnotacrystaldrum;

itwillalwaysbeaweapon

morethananything.

Iamanincompletemasterpiece,

fullofcrossed-outwordsandchanges.

nooneevercallsthefirstdraftbeautiful,

andIwillneverbethefinalpiece.

goaheadandfightme,I’llsurelyletyouwin,

commentonmybodyandI’llmakemyselfgrowthin.

you’rediggingnailsintoallthebruisesthatyoukissed,

I’mputtyinyourhand,butallyoudoisclenchyourfist.

earth:

Iburnandsmoke

tokeepotherswarm,

forgettingthat

Ineedtobreathe.

Icarryafirst-aidkit

whereverIgo,

forgettingthat

Ineedtoheal.

Igiveoutlove

toallwhowilltakeit,

forgettingthat

Ineedsomeformyself.

Iamdying

inordertokeep

everyonearoundmealive.

diggingupyourarteries

tofindproofofsomethingmore—

Iwanttoseebloodorboneornerves

oranythingatall

therehastobesomethingmore

(right?)

anever-endingsearch,

ahollowhole,

aspaceinsideasentence.

Itriedtoscratchunderthesurface,

butyouareallskinandskinandskin.

Iwantsobadly

tospilloutmysoul

ontothesepages,

butsomethings

arestuck.

somememories

clingtothesides

ofmyspirit

nomatterhowmuch

Itrytoscrapethemout.

Idon’trememberwhen

mylifeturnedinto

aseriesofsecrets

Iswallowdown

everytimetheytry

tocomebackup,

acollection

ofrussiannestingdolls

tapedshutsothat

noonegetsinside.

Ihavebecometrauma

packedinsideintrusivethought

packedinsidescartissue

packedinsidebraintissue

packedinsideskull.

Ihavebecome

anever-growingringofdefenses

sothatnoonecanfind

whatisatmycore.

foronce,IwishIcouldbethepoem

insteadofthepoetI’vebeen.

ratherthanformingmetaphorsonmytongue

they’dbedrapedontopofmyskin.

foronce,IwishIcouldbethereceiver,

insteadofhandingoutpiecesofheart.

asawriter,alover—Iseemtobedestined

togiveasI’mfallingapart.

TheNightPersists

lost:

innocence.

shorthair,

bigbrowneyes,

almostalwayswearspink.

lastseeninlarge,roundgoggles,

divingintoice-coldwater

justtofeelfearless.

iffound:

pleasetellher

Imissher.

Iamnotfearless

anymore.

“itseemslikeyou’rewriting

thesamethingoverandoveragain.”

that’sbecauseIam.

Iwriteaboutthis—

thesadness,

thebackpackofmelancholy

thatdigsintomyshoulderblades—

becauseeachpoem

isn’tauthenticenough.

Ikeeppouringoutmysoul,

buttheemotion

getslostintranslation.

Iwriteaboutthis

becausethereisnothing

elseinsidemetodigup.

nomoreideas.nomoremuses.

justdirt.

Iwriteaboutthis

becauseIneed

tofindmyselfagain.

andeverypoemthatcomesout

isjustanotherposterforamissingperson—

thepersonIusedtobe,

thepersonIwanttobe,

thepersonIwassupposedtobe.

Iwillwriteaboutthis,

overandoverandover,

untilIfindthem.

so,yes.

maybeIamwritingthesamething

overandover

andover.

butIhavenochoice.

howelseamI

supposedtofindmyself?

Iamwalkingoncreakyfloorboardswaitingforacrack—

waitingforsomethingtogiveoutunderneathme.

Iusedtobereckless.

Iusedtojumpandrunanddance

(becauseyoutoldmeto—

butitwasmyfaultforlistening).

now,Iknowbetter.

I’velearnedfromexperience

thattherearealwayssplintersinthewood,

tacksontheground,

asupportbeammissing.

thearchesofmyfeetwillcollapse

andIwillfallthrough.

oneday

(itmaybetomorrow,

itmaybenextweek,

itmaybenextyear)

youwillseewho

Ireallyam,

and

(crack)

“ohno”

(crack)

“Ididn’twantyoutogetattached”

(crack)

“thisisn’tright”

(falling)

“I’msorry”

(gone).

areyoufinewiththis?

itisallIcangiveyou;

bonesinsteadofskin.

allisfairwhenlove’sawar,

andeverydayisafight.

tonguesbecomethesharpestofswords

astheyclashoverwrongandright.

aphroditeandaresareplayingtheirgame,

mixingtheirpotionsforfun.

thisloveisawarandthebattleishere:

kissthebulletandloadthegun.

comeandsitwithme.

wecanwatchthedaygrowdark

aswedothesame.

hetoldmethatIcouldstopifIdidn’tlikeit—butthatheknewI’dlikeit.it’s

beensixmonthsandIcanstillfeelhishandcreepingdownmyside.Ifeelit

tuggingatmyshirt,slidingbetweenlayersbeforeIpushitaway.hesaidhe

knew I’d like it. it’s been six months and I still can’t sit on the basement

couchwithoutthinkingofthedayIsaidIdidn’twanttodoanythingandhe

pulledmyarmandledmeupstairs.hedidn’twanttopressureme,hesaid.it

wasjustnatural,hesaid.heknewI’dlikeit,hesaid.Ijusthadn’ttried.it’s

beensixmonthsandIstillshyawaywhenanyonetriestotouchmethatway.

becauseanarmovertheshoulderleadstoahandtracingdowntheback.he

saidheknewI’dlikeit.it’sbeensixmonthsandInolongersleepsoundly,

dreamingaboutzippers and sweatypalmsand beingtooscared to sayno.I

neversaidno.IsaidIguess,IsaidI’mscared,Isaidifyouwantto,IsaidI

don’tthinkIcandothis,IsaidI’msorry—orIsaidnothingatall.hetoldme

thatI couldstopifIdidn’tlikeit.butthatheknewI’dlikeit.it’sbeensix

monthsandmybrainstilltellsmeIshould’velikedit.Iwassupposedtolike

it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolike

it.Iwassupposedtolikeit.Iwassupposedtolikeit.

threemonthsintotreatment

mytherapistasks,

doesanyoneknowabout

yourdepression?

Iperkup.

mydepression?

Ineverthoughtitwas

badenough

orseriousenough

ordevastatingenough

foradiagnosis.

Ihadmyselfconvinced

Iwasmakingitup.

caroline,

shelooksatme—

hunchedover,

sittingonthecouch—

whydoyouthinkyou’rehere?

question:

howwill

mymentalillness

affectmy

romanticrelationships?

whatwillhappen

whenIbecome

emotionallyvulnerable?

willtheystay?

hypothesis:

ifmysignificantother

seesallthesymptoms

ofmymentalillness,

thentheywillleave.

ifmysignificantother

seesallthesymptoms

ofmymentalillness,

thentheywilldecide

itisnotworthit.

theywilldecide

Iamnotworthit.

materials:

one(1)emotionally

dependentteenager,

strugglingwith

depressionandanxiety,

whobelievesshe

isunlovable.

Ihavevolunteered

tobethistestsubject.

four(4)peoplewilling

toletmeintotheirlives.

eachonewillbecome

anexperimentalgroup.

theyshouldbelieve

theycansaveme,

orfixme,

orignoreme,

oratleastputupwithme.

unlimited(∞)triggers.

thesearenecessary

inordertobringout

mysymptoms.

unfortunately,

thereisnocontrol

forthisexperimentbecause

Iwillalwayshavethesadness.

thereisnowayto

extractitfromme.

experiment:

waitandsee

howmuch

theycantakeofme

beforetheyleave.

observations:

thefirsttrial

lastedninemonths.

hehadthe

sameissuesIdid.

wewereboth

emotionallydependent.

webothbelieved

wecouldsaveeachother.

ofcourse,

wecouldn’t.

thesecondtrial

lastedlessthan

threemonths.

thebreakupcame

outofnowhere.

hisfinalwords

tomewere

youworrytoomuch.

thethirdtrial

didnotevenlast

longenoughto

collectappropriatedata.

helefttooquickly.

inconclusive.

thefourthtrial

pending.

conclusion:

myhypothesiswas,

insomeways,

correct:

mostpeopledidnotstay.

somepeopletried

tocureme,

andgotfrustrated

whentheycouldn’t.

somepeopledidn’t

believeme,

andgotscaredoff

whenIhadmy

firstbreakdown.

somepeoplesimply

gotbored.

butnotallofthem.

andIknow

Ishouldn’trelyon

lovefromotherpeople.

butifsomeoneelsecanloveme,

thatmeansit’spossible

formetodoitaswell.

conclusion:

Iamlovable.

allwriters,

weseemtohaveourmindsknotted.

abedheadofthebrain.

andwithribbonsofdarkmatter

braidedintoourthoughts,

wewillneverbeableto

comboutallthetangles.

butstill,

withpeninhand,

webrushandwebrushandwebrush.

mymemoryofyouisbittersweet;

asugarcoatedbulletinmybrain.

andwhenItrytothinkofthedeceit,

saccharinedrownsoutallofthepain.

Imissthewayyourneckcurvesintojaw,

yetloathemyselfforthinkingthatsamethought,

formonthaftereachmonth,Ineversaw

itwaswhatIcouldn’tgivethatyousought.

youpromisedmeyou’dneveraskformore,

asfingertips,theytraveleddownmyspine—

isitmyfaultfornotknowingbefore,

ifyou’retheonewhohidallthesigns?

youtookfromme’tilIwashollowedout

yetyou’llalwaysbetheoneIdreamabout.

thefirsttimeIfellinlovefeltlikemyfirsttimebehindthewheelofacar.it

wassomethingsocommon,Ihadseenitinmoviesandwhilewalkingdown

sidewalks,andIhadriddeninthebackseatwatchingmyparentstogetherfor

years. but once I was in the driver’s seat, face-to-face with another person,

nothing about it was familiar. I had to learn all the different gears, the

emergencybrake,therearviewmirror.IspedthroughredsIdidn’tevensee,

stoppedshortatyellows,stalledatgreens.mysteeringwaswobblyandtimid,

living scared of everyone else on the road. but eventually, I got more

comfortable.nolongerhittingthecurboneveryrightturn.realizingwhento

usethebrightsandwhentoslowdown.Icouldturnontheradio,rolldown

thewindows,andswitchtocruisecontrol.theissuewithgettingcomfortable,

though,is youbegin tosee the speed limit asa guideline.you beginto see

stopsignsassuggestions.that’swhatlovedoes.soIforgottoslowdownat

yields. used the backup camera instead of looking behind me. paid more

attentiontothepersoninthepassengerseatthantotheroadinfrontofus.

andIthoughtI’dbepreparedforthefirstcrash,Ireallydid—Imean,theysay

ithappenstoeveryoneeventually.thefilmsshowtheminslowmotionwith

orchestralmusicinthebackground,andeveryoneendsupokay.butInever

realized how painful airbags were until it was my head slamming into one.

andIneverimaginedhowtheseatbeltwoulddigintomyshoulder,tryingto

holdmeinplacewhenmybodywantedtobreakfree.Ineverthoughtofthe

skiddingtires,theshatteredglass,theshatteredhearts,theeeriesilenceafter

everythinghadcalmeddown.nothingpreparedmeforthat.

andonceyouhavethatfirstcrash,yes,youmoveon—youdriveagain,you

throwawaythelovelettersandmeetsomeonenew.butyouneverletyourself

get comfortable. I spend an extra few seconds at every stop sign now. my

hands shake as I hold the wheel. my foot hovers over the brake, expecting

somethingtogowrong.everytimeIpickupspeedgoingdownahill,allIcan

thinkofisthateeriesilence.smokerisingfromthehood,heartbeatingoutof

mychest,breathslowandshaky, trying not to cry.Iamconstantlystuckin

thatmoment.wonderingwhereeverythingwentwrong,wonderinghowIwas

too blind to see it coming, wondering why I didn’t slam on the brake fast

enoughorswerveoutofthewayintime.onesecondeverythingisfine,and

thenextI’mjustapieceofthewreckage.theonlywaytopreventacarcrash

istoneverdriveinthefirstplace.andIguessthat’swhyIwon’tletmyselffall

inloveagain.

whenwilllovebecomegreaterthanlust,

orpowernotleadtopain?

whenwilltorturenotholdhandswithtrust,

orgreednotbepartofthegame?

whenwillwritingnotgrowoldandrust,

orfailuredetachfromfame?

whenwillwerealizeourcreationscombust

becausewearetheoneslightingtheflame?

playmovie.

twoshouldersagainsteachother,

yourheadonmine.

nextscene.

yousmileatmefromacrosstheroom.

nextscene.

mondayafterschool.

ourlegsareintertwined,

I’mlyingonyourchest.

youkissmyforehead.

rewind.

play.

youkissmyforehead.

rewind.

play.

youkissmyforehead.

pause.

...

rewind.

play.

youkissmyforehead.

Iletoutalaughandburymyfaceinto—

nextscene.

it’sdark.

I’mwhisperingapologiesintoyourshoulder.

ItellyouIdon’tknowifIcandothis.

andthen—

nextscene.

it’slight.

yourthumbistracingmyspine.

you’relaughingathowIflinchatyourtouch.

pause.

wereyouunhappyinthisscene?

wereyouacting?

youmust’vebeen,because—

play.

twodayslateryouweregone.

endofmovie.

mainmenu.

sceneselection:

mondayafterschool.

Iknowyoudon’tthinkofmeanymore.

I’msureyourmemorieshavegathereddust.

andyetIstillfindmyselfhereatnight.

youkissmyforehead.

pause.

...

rewind

play.

youkissmyforehead.

rewind.

play.

youkissmyforehead.

rewind.

play.

it’sjusthide-and-seek.

heslippedaway,nowIspend

mylifetimesearching.

mars:

Iamtiredofthefight,

tiredofcombat.

allithasdone

isleaveredonmyskin

andmakemyownlife

feelalientome.

Ihavetodecide:

thisiswhereIsurrender,

orthisiswhereIfinally

makepeacewithmyself.

I’msureyou’vebeenofferedtheworld,

you’redeservingofeachinchofland.

Ibetyoucouldsewupthevalleysandmountains

withjustthetouchofyourhand.

I’msureyou’vebeenofferedtheworld,

butmypocketshaveallbeenwornthrough.

soI’llwriteyouanocean,I’llwriteyouasky,

andhopethat’senoughforyou.

don’tmistakethefreefall

forfloating.

Ididthatonce.

Ineversaw

thepavementcoming.

lastnight

Ifeltit.

happiness.

Ididn’trecognizethesparkatfirst.

Ihadforgottenwhatitwaslike.

butthen,

thereitwas.

aflashoflight.

asecondofwarmth.

aglimmerofhope

whenallIhadforyears

wasdarkness.

andjusttheidea

thatthismightnotlastforever

ismotivationenough

tokeepgoing.

somehow,yougotintomybrain

whenyoucalledmeperfect,but

Icouldn’tbelieveit

allthebeautifulthingsyousaw

wereneverthere;forIwasfilledwith

sadnessandpain

Iwasworthless.

Inolongerthought

Imeantsomething.

everyonetoldmeIcouldn’t.

andoneday,thatwasallIbelieved,evenwhen

youtoldmeIcould.

Iwasafailure.

Icouldn’tbelieve

whenyousaidIwasspecial.

Itoldyounotto.

but,youkepttryingeventhough

Iwasamess.

runaway.

Ican’tbelieveyoudidn’t

thedayyoufirstmetme

(ayearlater,Ireaditbackward)

thetreeswriteincursiveroots

thatyoucannotdecipher.

youwerepromised

block-letterbranches.

experienceneverquitematchesup

tothetextbook,

butrememberthatyou

arenotilliterate.

lifeislearningtoread

themessyhandwriting

oftheearth

whenschoolonlyshowedyou

clear-cutletters.

fightsandfearsforalltheseyears,

butmaybeI’mnotsoinsane;

mybirthdaycakecurespastmistakes

witheachblown-outcandleflame.

myskinhasscreamedthroughstitchesseamed,

butIwokeuptoday;stillalive.

Icanholdonforlonger,maybenowI’llbestronger

forthenextthreehundredsixty-five.

shewasradiance

shoulderbladesandbeachesandorangeheadphones

carsicksaturdaysandcardgamesIcouldneverwin,

justlikeherheart.

butIthinkI’mokaywiththat.

atleastIplayedthegame:

pokerfaceon,cardsdown.

andthat’senough.

sometimesourcalveswouldbrush

aswesatwatchingmovies.

andthat’senough.

Iwasawkwardandshewasgraceful,

Iwasnothing

andshewasabsolutelyeverything.

butforasummershedealtmein.

andthatisenough.

theproblemwasnot

askinghim

tocompleteme.

theproblemwas

believingIwasincomplete

tobeginwith.

youalwayskeptyourself

afewstepsaheadofme.

Ispentallourtimetogether

outofbreath,

tryingtocatchup.

youwerethefirst

tofallinlove.

thefirst

tofallout.

itwasasif

therewasalag

inmyversionofreality.

asif

youwereatimezoneahead

whilesittingright

nexttome.

today,

Isawthatyouhave

alreadymovedon

tosomeoneelse.

Iguessmyclock

isstillafew

hoursbehind.

somedaysI’mokay,

whileotherspullmetotheground.

I’lldigthroughdirtsearchingfor

happinessIthoughtI’dfound.

thedarknessscaresmemore

nowthatIseeachanceatlight;

thatflareofhopeispushingme

tonotgiveupthefight.

theysaythatIamtooyoung

totalkaboutlove—

thatIdon’tunderstandit.

andmaybeIdon’t.

butneitherdoes

anyoneelse.

whenitcomestolove,

claritydoesnot

comewithage.

letmeagonizeoverit

justlikeeveryoneelse.

thefirstone,

hegavemeatoyplanetwithamoon.

it’sfunny,

becauseitwasexactlylikeus:

myliferevolvedaroundhis,

Iwasstuckinorbit.

hewasspinningandspinning

andspinningoutofcontrol

andyethewasallIcouldsee,

wrappingmyselfaroundandaround

evenifgravitypulledmetootight.

ittookmeayear

tothrowthecheapthingaway.

thesecondone,

hegavemeabrokenpiece

ofabridgehe’dbuilt.

it’sfunny,

becauseitwasexactlylikeus:

snappedunderpressure.

Itracedthesandeddesign

withmyfingertipsthedayheleft,

seeingmyfemursandvertebraeineverypiece,

abrokenskeletonofsomething

pushedfarpastitslimits.

Istillkeepthepieceonmybookshelf.

itremindsmeofwhoIusedtobe.

thethirdone,

hegavemenothing.

it’sfunny,

becauseitwasexactlylikeus:

emptyandsilent,

nofootprintscomingorgoing.

fadingasfastasithadcome.

foraminute,Iconvincedmyself

Iwasn’thollowedout.

butnomatterhowdeepIdug,

Icouldn’tfindmyself.

therewassimplynothingthere.

jupiter:

thedoctorrollsupmysleeves

andasksifthemarksarenew.

Itellheryes,

butthatitwasafter

threemonthsofbeingclean.

thetherapistpullsback

myexosphere.

it’shardformeto

letsomeonelookat

thestorms.

butIletheranyway.

I’mtrying,

andmaybeI’mnotsucceeding,

butit’sastart.

lookatthemesswe’vemade:

twocottoncandyhearts

unraveledacrossthesofa.

lightpinkandbabybluenever

quitemadepurple,only

meltedsugarandstickyhands,

mismatchedcolorsand

twobodiescaughtupinthestrands.

monthshavegoneby,

andsometimesIstillfind

saccharineundermyfingernails.

andIhatemyselfforhoping

thatsometimesyoudotoo.

Inevertoldyou

howmuchdamageyoudid.

mylimbswerenotmeant

tobendinthosedirections.

thisismetellingyou

howyoupulledmyjoints

outoftheirsockets.

thisismetellingyou

howyouleftmewith

allmyligamentstorn,

disconnectedbones

floatinginsideskin.

thisismetellingyou

howyoumademebelieve

itwasformyowngood.

well,

notreally.

you’renotreadingthis,

anyway.

I’vealways

beenintrigued

byhands.

howthesamemesh

ofboneandbloodandnail

thatcaressesaface

cooksameal

holdsachild

canalso

formafist

gripaneck

pullatrigger.

weallhavehands.

weallhavethepotential

toprotect

andcreate

andlove.

weallhavehands.

weallhavethepotential

tohurt

andsteal

andkill.

weallhavehands.

butwhatweusethemfor

isuptous.

findyourself

inapage.

lookat

whereyouare.

findyourpast

inthepages

before.

lookatallthat

youhavesurvived.

findyourfuture

inthepages

after.

lookatallthat

youhaveahead.

thisisnot

theendofthebook.

youareright

attheheartofit.

keepreading.

TheDawnBreaks

lost:

insecurity.

shakyvoice,

looseclothing,

alwayssuckinginherstomach.

lastseentheotherday

forasplitsecondinthemirror,

tellingmeshewasright.

iffound:

pleasetellher

Iknowshemeantwell.

butIhavenothingtohide

anymore.

apillowisnotatissue

orashoulder

oratherapysession.

butyoucan

cryintoit.

ajournalisnotafriend

orahotline

oratherapysession.

butyoucan

ventintoit.

poetryisnotanintervention

oraprescription

oratherapysession.

butyoucan

healwithit.

firststepsarealways

moreimportant

thantheyseem.

totheonewhowilllovehimnext:

he’sbeenthroughsomuch.

helphim.takeitslow.

smooththesplintersothershaveleft.

I’msureafewofmineare

stillembeddedinhisskin.

whenitcomestosuicide,

weliketotalkabout

howthepersondied:

aguntothehead,

anoverdose,

aropehangingfromtheceiling.

butpeopledonotdie

fromarope

hangingfromtheceiling.

peoplediefromdepression.

apersondiesfromsuicide—

fromdepression—

everyfortyseconds.

Iamonlyoneperson

withonelife

withonestory.

buteveryonehastheir

stackofstanzas.

somepeoplejustdon’tlive

longenoughtopublishthem.

whileyouwerereadingthis,

someonecommittedsuicide.

thispageisforthem.

fifteenthingsyoushouldknowaboutme

one.

IkeepmyringeronwhenIsleep,justincase.

two.

Ilovethefeelingofahug(thoughI’llneveradmitit).

three.

I’mahopelessromantic.

four.

IpickaroundmynailswhenIgetnervous.

four.

youmakemenervous.

four.

you’rebadformynailbeds.

five.

Ilovefiguringthingsout.seeingthings.knowingthings.

six.

Ineverunderstoodwhytheycalledtheromantics“hopeless.”

seven.

I’vewantedtobeadoctorsinceIwasakid.

I’vealwaysbeenamazedbythesoundofalive,beatingheart.

eight.

wordsmeanalottome.

eight.

Iwishyou’dusemoreofthem.

nine.

onthefirstday,weintroducedourselves,

laughingandwonderinghowwehadnevermetbefore.

I’mstillwondering.

ten.

Iwanttostoppickingatmyfingersincaseyoutrytoholdmyhand.

ten.

I’vethoughtaboutyouholdingmyhand.

ten.

Iwantyoutoholdmyhand.

ten.

I’mscaredyou’lltrytoholdmyhand.

eleven.

I’mnotcomfortableinmyownskin.

I’vebeentoldthere’sfartoomuchofit.

twelve.

youmakemelesshopeless.

twelve.

Idon’tthinkyouwantromantic.

thirteen.

thisismyfavoritenumber.alwayshasbeen.alwayswill.

fourteen.

I’dbeokaynotbeingbeautiful,aslongasyouthoughtIwas.

fifteen.

Iwrotethislistinsteadofmessagingyou.

fifteen.

Iwrotethislistinsteadofpickingatmynailbeds.

fifteen.

they’rerawanyway.

...

fifteen.

Idon’twanttostoptyping.maybeit’sbecauseIknowyou’rereading.

fifteen.

Ihopeyou’rereading.

this

isametamorphosis.

notintermsofbutterflies,

whereatinycaterpillarhidesaway

andemergesassomethingbeautiful.

butintermsofchange.

recovery.

humandevelopment.

adolescencedoesnot

comewithacocoon.

thereisnograndtransformation

toholdoutfor.

justgrowth.

ninety-ninepercent

ofeveryatominyourbody

isemptyspace.

ninety-ninepercent

ofthispage

isblank.

ourexistence

(ourpoetry)

(ouruniverse)

relies

onnonexistence.

Icannotwriteflowingpoetry

aboutthecolorofhiseyes.

Icannotformhaikus

aboutthecurveofhislip.

Icannotmoldverseafterverse

abouthisskin,

orhishands,

orhiswords—

forthefactofthematter

heisnotpoetry.

andmaybethat’sokay.

maybethistime,

Icanfallforaperson

insteadofahuman-shapedstanza.

Iwanttobeadoctor.

maybeasurgeon.

howniceitwouldbe

togofromcuttingmyownskin

inordertoharm,

tocuttingsomeoneelse’sskin

inordertoheal.

loveisachemicalreaction

Ican’tmakeanyreferencestogod

ortheheavenIfoundwhenImetyou.

Ican’ttalkaboutfateoraunitingofsouls.

Iamapersonofscience,

along-practicingatheist

withatextbookasmybible.

butsomethingintheway

myfeetfeellighteronthepavement

whenIwalknexttoyou—

howyourarmbrushesmine

andsendselectricitythroughmybones

(eventhoughIknow

it’snotscientificallypossible)—

somethinginallthatmakesme

second-guess

mydenialofsomethingoutside

ofthescientificallyproven.

becausemaybe,

justmaybe,

youareproofenough.

don’ttellme

mybrokenness

isbeautiful.

this

isnotbeautiful.

this

nearlykilledme.

this

isnotsomething

foryoutoromanticize.

Iambeautiful.

this

(depression)

(anxiety)

(pain)

isnot.

it’sokayifsomethings

arealwaysoutofreach.

ifyoucouldcarryallthestars

inthepalmofyourhand,

theywouldn’tbe

halfasbreathtaking.

thereiscomfort

inthestillness.

inthemomentbetween

theendofonestanza

andthestartofthenext.

inthefreezeinaglance,

inthepauseofatongue.

theinhale,

waiting.

youdon’tlooklike

acompletethought.

youarepausedatasemicolon

placedbyacarelessauthor.

I’mwaitingfor

thesecondhalfofthesentence

whenmaybethere

isn’tevenoneatall.

butoureyeslockfor

aninfinitesimallysmallmoment,

andIamcalm.

Idonotknow

ifthisistheend

orthebeginning

ornothingatall.

sofornow

Ijustinhale,

andwait.

lightingaflameisexciting

andlovelyandwarm.

you,

youareexcitingandlovelyandwarm—

butsofleeting.

therewillneverbeenough

kindlingforthebothofus.

thehappiness

willcomeslowly,

thewaylightfiltersin

throughthewindow

intheearlymorninghours.

soslowly

youdon’tevennotice

thenightisending,

untilyouwakeup

andseethesunlight.

Ishyawayfrom

callingmyselfapoet.

emilydickinsonisapoet,

Isay.

johnkeatsisapoet.

Iamaperson.

Iambarelyeighteenyearsold.

Ithinktoomuch,

Ifeeltoomuch.

Iwritetosoothetheache

inmyheart

(ormyhead)

(ormylungs).

poetcomeswith

apedestalofpapers,

withacrown

presentedbyoldmen

industylibraries,

poetcomeswith

everyword

underscrutiny.

then

Ibegintopicture

ayounggirlnamedemily,

soundingoutwordsonpaper

andtracingoverletters,

excitementgrowingwith

everyshakyvowelandconsonant.

andIpicturejohn,

justshyoftwenty,

studyingtobeadoctor,

butalwaysbeingdrawn

backtowriting.

then

Iremembermyself.

nineyearsold,

writingmyfirststanza

aboutabutterfly.

Icanseethepieceofpaper,

theerasershavings.

Icanfeeleachpuzzlepiece

shiftingintoplace.

Iremindmyselfthat,

inthebeginning,

therewerenopedestals.

therewerenocrowns.

justemotions.

Iremindmyselfthatpoets

alwayshavebeen

just

people

whothinktoomuch,

whofeeltoomuch,

whosoothetheiraches

withtheonlythingthat

makessense:

words.

Ihavenopedestal.

Ihavenocrown.

this—

thisistheonlything

thatmakessensetome.

Ikissedyourbirthmarks—

littleislandsonyourskin;

new,discoveredlands.

Iknowyouwanttodrownyourselfinthesadness.

it’scomfortingtoletitsurroundyou,

heartpulsing,lungsaching

asyoufeelitoverwhelmeveryinchofyourskin

anddiffuseintoyourcells.

butIhopeyouknowsadness

isarevolvingdoor.

onceyou’reinit,

lettingthesadnesstakeyouaround

andaroundandaround,

itwon’tstoponitsown.

you’lljustkeepgoingaround

andaroundandaround.

that’swhyyouneedto

fighttostopit,

fighttostopspinning,

fighttogetout.

getoutofthatinfinitesadness.

getyourselfoutofthatgoddamndoor.

revolvingdoorsfeelrelentless,

butIpromisethereisanexit,

asurfacetothesadness

youaredrowningin.

thereisoxygenwaiting

tofillyourlungs

anddiffuseintoyourcells.

saturn:

thewoundshavehealed

andthescarsarefading.

myskinispale

andsmooth.

I’vestartedtoconfide

inmyclosestfriends.

theyembraceme.

supportme.

surroundme.

forthefirsttime,

itisscariertothink

aboutgoingback

thantothink

aboutmovingforward.

ourfirstnighttogether,

wetalkeduntil

birdsbegantosing.

wewerehuddledtogether,

underthecomforter,

discussingtheformation

oftheuniverse.

completelyunaware

thatwhenourfingersfirsttouched,

itwasthebigbang

alloveragain.

completelyunaware

oftheinfiniteuniverse

thatwasjustbeginning

toformbetweenus.

thecloset

ismoreofaprism

thananything.

it’sokayifyou

haven’tcomeoutyet.

youarestillrefracting.

Ihavebeencalledbrave

fortakingasawtomyribcage

andputtingmyheartondisplay.

forputtingaspotlight

onmychestcavity

andcallingaudiencestolook.

butIwasnotbrave

whenIstartedwriting.

writingwasnotastage

oramuseumexhibit—

itwasanechochamber,

awaytotalktosomeone,

evenifthatsomeone

wasmyownvoice

bouncingbackatme.

thatwasnotbrave.

thatwassurvival.

butitwasbravetokeepwriting

oncepeoplewerelistening.

itishardtoadmitsomethingtoyourself.

itishardertoadmitsomething

toyourfriends

family

teachers

futurepartners.

itishard,

butI’mdoingit.

andthatisbravery.

september13,2015

mysixteenthbirthday

mymomasksif

Iwanttogetmylearner’spermit

anddriveforthefirsttime.

Isayno

andaskhertotakeme

toablooddriveinstead.

therearescarsinches

fromwherethenurse

pushestheneedlein,

butthat’salltheyarenow:

scars.

Iamsevenmonths

cleanofself-harm,

andIamfinallylosingblood

fortherightreason.

myveinsareonlyopening

tohelpfillsomeoneelse’s.

hetellsme,

youareacomplicated

persontolove.

Iknow,

Ireply.

Istrugglewithit

everyday.

therearetimesthat

Iamdoingsowell,

Istoptakingmymeds.

andsuddenlyIfeellike

thelightswitch

hasflippedoff.

andsuddenlyIfeellike

Iamnotbetterbecause

ofmyhardwork.

andsuddenlyIfeellike

afraud.

Itrytoremindmyself

thatthebrainisanorgan,

thatthisisadisease,

thatdiabeticsneedinsulin

andnoonethinksofthat

ascheating.

Itrytoremindmyself

thatthisisnotaboost,

thisisatreatment.

soIswallowmypride

alongwithmypills

andletmyself

getbetter.

somewhere

there’samessofpillows.

freshwhitesheetsand

thecomforterpulledclose,

andyou—

alwaysyou.

somewhere

theclockalwaysreads

threea.m.

thesunnevercomesup,

andthebirdsaresilent.

Ineverhavetokissyougoodbye.

somewhere

theentireuniversecondenses

intoabedroomonthesecondfloor.

nothingexistsbeyondthewhitewalls,

andallofspaceandtime

iswatching.

somewhereisnothere.

here

thesheetsfalloffthebed,

theclockkeepsmoving,

dayspassby,

thecalendarpagesflip.

here

Iputonmyshoesand

closeyourdoor—quietly—

tonotwakeyou.

butyoushouldknowthatinmydreams,

wearealwayssomewhere.

halfasleep,

skintoskin,

theworldholdingusgentlyinitspalm

forjustonemoresecondonrepeat,

beforethelighthitsyourwindow.

themessofpillows.

thefreshwhitesheets.

thecomforterpulledclose.

andyou—

alwaysyou.

uranus:

sometimespeopledistancethemselves

whenImentionmymentalillness.

theylookatme

likeIamaboxofmatches

readytoburnatanysecond.

theylookatme

likemyworldis

tippedonitsside,

revolvingthewrongway.

Ithinktheirheads

arejusttilted

fromsomuch

skepticism.

somethingaboutus

alwaysfeltso

safe.

youcouldhave

caressedmyface

withknifeinhand,

andIwouldhave

leanedincloser,

andfallenasleep.

somethingaboutus

alwaysfeltso

comfortable.

Iwatchedus

goupinflames.

andallIdidwas

warmmyhands

intheglow

andsmile.

butafterall,thescarswillfade.

yourskinwillhealandberemade.

theclockwillhittwelve,thepatcheswillmend,

summerwillcomebackaroundagain.

thesunwillriseandmindswillchange,

constellationsslowlyrearrange.

dustycoalwillturntodiamondsthatshine,

forallofourwoundswillbehealedwithtime.

notallhumans

areconsumers.

somearepredators.

theywillbite

intoyourflesh

inordertogrowtaller,

andnotcareabout

thebodycountintheirwake.

somearedecomposers.

theywillwait

untilyoufalldown

inordertofeast

onwhat’sleftofyou.

theydonotgrieve.

onlyrejoice.

butsome,

someareproducers.

theywilltradeyou

sunlightforlove

andthenofferyouboth.

theywillbloom

wheneveryousmile,

andsmilewhenthey

gettoseeyoubloom.

youcaneither

makeagraveyard

oragarden.

youcaneither

rot

orgrow.

sometimesIthinkwewill

alwayscomebacktoeachother.

notbychance,

butbychoice.

thereisnomagneticpull,

norighttime

orrightplace.

thestarsarenotalignedforus.

sowereachourhands

uptothenightsky

andrearrangethemourselves.

depressionnowfeels

likeanoldsweater,

worninandfrayed

attheedges.

sometimesIamcold

andlonely,

andtrytoputit

backon.

butthesleeves

aretooshort.

it’stightaround

themiddle.

thematerialitches

inawayIdon’tremember.

I’mnotready

tothrowitoutjustyet.

but

thesadnessisn’tas

comfortingasitusedtobe.

I’mmadeoffourdimensions—spaceandtime,heartandsoul

Iammyownuniverse;infiniteandwhole

myskinisnotaboundary,I’mtoomuchtobecontained

morethanperson,morethanwords,Icannotbeexplained

mythoughtsfilluptheroomastheyseepthroughallmypores

they’llleakoutallthewindows;they’llbreakdownallthedoors

sodon’tyoudaredefineme,Iammadeupofunknowns

youcannotholdmeback,Iamnotcagedinbymybones

TheSunRises

lost:

depression.

tiredeyes,

rawnailbeds,

alwaysinabaggysweater.

lastseentheotherday

forasplitsecondinmathclass,

tellingmeshemissedme.

iffound:

pleasetellher

sheisnotwelcomehere.

shedoesnotcontrolme

anymore.

youareholding

twohundredpages

ofcellulosepulp

andprinterink.

youareholding

twohundredpages

ofmemories.

everydoctor’svisit

triptothemall

phoneconversation

softballgame—

it’sallhere.

haveyouever

heldyourlife

inyourown

twohands?

becauseIhave.

youareholding

myexistence

inthepalmofyourhand.

andIdon’tknow

ifthat’sfreeing

orterrifying.

youcan’trootyourself

intheground,hopingtheworld

willgrowaroundyou.

youweremadetodo

morethanhideintheshadows

ofanother’sleaves.

sometimes

mythoughtsaresojagged

theychipmyteeth

ontheirwayout

ofmymouth.

Iusedto

swallowsandpaper,

weardownmyvocalcords,

smoothoverroughedges

tomakesure

Ididnodamage.

now,Ileavemywordssharp.

Iattachthemto

thenockingpoint

atmylarynx

andpullbackthestring,

sothatwhenthey

hitthetarget,

theypierce.

watchasthey

flythroughtheair.

ready.

aim.

fire.

anapologytoeverypsychiatristIfiredalongtheway:

thefirstone:

Iwasonlytwelvewhenwemet.

Ispentourfirstsessions

refusingtospeakoutofspite

andourlastsessions

pretendingtobeokay.

Itoldmyparentsyouwerecrazy.

butitwasn’tyourfault,

itwasmine.

thesecondone:

therewasabasketoflollipops

onthetableinyouroffice.

Iorganizedthembycolor

insteadofpayingattention.

Itoldmyparentsyouwereannoying.

butitwasn’tyourfault,

itwasmine.

thethirdone:

youwerethefirstto

prescribememedication,

andthatscaredme,

becausethatmeant

Iactuallyhadanissue.

Itoldmyparentsyouweremean.

butitwasn’tyourfault,

itwasmine.

mymomjokesthat

I’mpickyaboutpsychiatrists,

butreally,Ijust

wasn’treadytogetbetter.

Iwasn’treadytobelieve

Ideservedtobehappy.

Iwasn’treadytoadmit

therewasaproblem

inthefirstplace.

Iamstilllearning

toletmyselfgrow.

Iamstilllearning

thatitisnotselfishtoletmyselfbecome

thepersonIammeanttobe.

neptune:

Iusedtothinkthattheopposite

ofdarknesswassunlight,

thattheopposite

ofdepressionwashappiness.

nowIknowthat

duringtheday

therearecloudsandrainandsnow.

outsideofdepression

thereispainandjoyandanger.

afteryearsoffloodanddrought,

whatareliefitis

toseethetideriseandfall

again.

tobaskinblue

withoutbeingconsumedbyit.

toswim

withoutwantingtodrown.

whatareliefitis

tolivealife

Iamexcited

towakeupto.

inhale.

exhale.

yourbodyis

alwaysworking

tostayalive,

evenifyou’renot.

fallasleep.

wakeup.

thebrainknows

whenthesunis

supposedtorise,

whenyoureyes

aresupposedtoopen.

oxidation.

reduction.

newton’sthirdlaw

statesthateveryaction

hasitsopposite,

itsequal,

itspair.

crescendo.

decrescendo.

youwillrisewith

thesymphonyand

fadeoutwiththe

audience’sapplause.

creation.

destruction.

thereisonly

somuchtime

beforenothingness

isrestored.

baskinthisimbalance

foraslongasyoucan.

thisisnotajourney

fromsadtohappy,

frombadtogood,

fromtotaldarknesstowhitelight.

thereisnodestination,

noending,

nopointwhereIcrossthefinishline

andcollectmyblueribbon.

I’mlearningtoliveagain.

Iseepassionandjoyandlove

wherethereusedtobenothing.

butthatdoesn’tmean

Iuntiemyshoes.

itjustmeansIhave

anotherreasontokeepputting

onefootinfrontoftheother.

Ilookathimoutof

thecornerofmyeye,

pasttherimof

myglasses.

mybrainremindsme

thatIamasilenttornado

hedoesnotdeserve

togetcaughtupin.

butthenIremember

Iamdifferentnow.

alittleolder.

alittlemoreindependent.

alittlemoresecure.

thistime,

Idon’tneedsomeone

tosaveme.

thistime,

Idon’tneedproof

thatIamlovable—

IknowIam.

thistime,

maybeIcandoitright.

Ispentsolong

tryingnottodrown.

coughingupsaltwater

feastingonadrenaline

kickingmylegs,

evenwhenmycalvescramped

evenwhenmyfeetbecamenumb

evenwhenIrealized

nolifeboatwasonitsway.

Iamstillintheocean.

thereisstillnolifeboat.

butIamnotdrowning.

myheadistiltedback.

mylegsarelifteduptothesurface.

Iseepinkcloudsinthesky.

ifyouthinkyouaredrowning,

justremember:

youfloatinwater.

thisyear,

Ifellinlovewithmyself.

Itoldmyself

thankyou.

I’msorry.

it’sokay.

thankyouforfightingtosurvive

evenwhenIdon’twantto.

I’msorryIblameyou

forthingsyoucan’tcontrol.

it’sokaythatyou’renotperfect

Iwillloveyouanyway.

now,

Ilookatmyfaceinthemirror

insteadofmybody.

youare

themostimportantperson

inmylife.

Iamthesundaycrossword

andhereyouare,

penuncapped.

fillmein.

eveniftheanswersarewrong,

wecanworry

aboutthatlater.

tomypastself:

nightcannotlastforever.

themoonisonlybright

becauseit’sreflectingthesun.

andthereisasun,

andyouwilllivetoseeit.

tomyfutureself:

daycannotlastforever.

Iknowhappinessisnot

afinaldestination

orarestingplace.

thatisokay.

itismorethanokay.

Iamnotyour

beautifulbrokenmess

tocleanup.

mymentalillnessisnot

ariddleforyou

tosolve,

adecodedmessageforyou

tounscramble.

Ialreadyknowtheanswer:

therapy.

andmedication.

andpouringoutmythoughts

ininkinsteadofblood.

youarenottheanswer.

Iam.

begratefulthat

timewillheal

thewoundsbut

leavethescars.

howelsewillyou

rememberallthat

you’vesurvived?

themostpowerfulword

intheenglishlanguageis

no.

itisrefusal

andcontrol

andaggression

andauthority.

doyoustillloveme?

no.

areyoucomfortablewiththis?

no.

doyouwanttolivelikethisforever?

no.

Iusedtobescared

ofsayingno

beingselfish

makingmyowndecisions.

butthereisstrengthinrefusal.

thereisrevolutioninauthority.

thereisfreedomincontrol.

so,

savoryourstrength.

revelinyourrevolution.

followyourfreedom.

say

no.

frecklesonyourcheek

Itrytoconnectthedots

withcallousedfingers

newconstellations

littledipperlowerlips

acrossmyforehead

galaxiescollide

anewnightsky,startostar

twinearthsignsasone.

Iamdone

beingdelicate.

asagirl,

Iwastaught

tobesweet,

tobedainty,

tofoldintomyself

untilIwasnothing

morethancrumpledpaper.

thisismyunfolding.

Iwillusegunpowder

tosetmymakeup

andgasoline

asmyperfume.

nexttimeyoutryto

burnmeatthestake,

Iwillburnback.

Iwillstartafire

youcannotcontrol.

myprofessortellstheclass

allpoetryisaboutpoetry.

whenIwasfourteen

andfelttheworldclosingin,

Iopenedajournal

andpickedupapen.

myprofessortellstheclass

allpoetryisaboutpoetry.

whenIwaseleven

andlearningtoplayguitar,

Istartedwritingsongs.

itwasfrustrating:

Icouldn’tthinkofmelodies

evenwhenthewordscamesoeasily.

myprofessortellstheclass

allpoetryisaboutpoetry.

whenIwasnine

Iheardawaltwhitmanpoem

sobeautifulthatIgrabbedanotebook

andstartedstructuring

ministanzasinit.

Istillhavethatnotebook,

inmydeskdrawer.

myprofessortellstheclass

allpoetryisaboutpoetry.

Ithinkmaybehe’sright.

thisischalkboardlove.

you’reonmyskin,powderedout

insketchedskeletons.

findmeblankoncemore.

fillintheemptyspaces,

timeandtimeagain.

hidetheeraser.

let’sloseourselvesinourhands,

residueandall.

don’taskforrespect;

demandit.

don’tlookforopportunity;

grabit.

don’taddtotheworld;

changeit.

thisistheexcavation

ofmyadolescence.

Igolayerbylayer,

squarebysquare,

lookingovereverypiece

ofcrackedpottery

andeverystraybone.

Ispentsolong

buryingtheruins

underdirtandsand

andanythingelseIcouldfind.

tryingtopretend

itneverhappened

inthefirstplace.

butitdidhappen,

andthesearetheruins

Ibuiltmylife

ontopof.

sonow,

Idig.

writeapoem.

cutitout.

tapeitontothispage.

mystoryisnotcomplete

withoutpiecesfrom

thepeoplewho

keptitgoing.

a(self)lovepoem:

shepicksathernails

whenshegetsnervous,

butIknowshe’s

tryingtostop.

hereyeslook

brown,

butturnto

caramelinthelight.

shecanstoptheworld

withjustone

clickofherpen.

ittookme

eighteenwholeyears

torealizehow

beautifulsheis;

toseethelightinherlaugh,

thepowerinherpoise,

thewrathinherwriting.

butnow

Iseeit.

andifsheeverforgets,

Iwanthertocomebackhere,

backtothispage.

sheneedstoknowIloveher.

whenIthinkoflove,

Ithinkofplutoandcharon,

thedwarfplanetanditsmoon.

shedoesnotallowherlife

torevolvearoundhis.

instead,shetakeshishand

andtheyorbiteachother,

movingthroughthenightsky.

bothontheirownpaths,

butpulledtogether

astheytumblethroughthenothingness.

whenIthinkoflove,

Ithinkofgravityworkingbothways.

Iwillnotcallmyselftheearth,

andyouthesun.

Idonotorbitaroundyou,

helplesslyfallingandspinning

aroundyouasthecenterofmyuniverse.

thatisnotlove.

loveiswhen

Iampulledtowardyou

andyouarepulledtowardme.

thisismesteppinginto

yourgravitationalfield.

nottoorbitaroundyou,

butwithyou.

somehabits

Iamstillunlearning.

sometimesIstillstopmyself

beforeputtingonashort-sleevedshirt.

andsometimesIrunmyfingersalongmyarm,

expectingtofeelscabs.

buttherearen’tscabsanymore.

sometimesunlearning

issomuchmoreimportant

thanlearning.

yourwritingsavedmylife,

agirlmessagesme.

thankyou,

Itypeback.

itsavedminetoo.

wearemadeof

morethanjust

stardust

andmoonlight

andpoetry.

thereisdirtinsideofus.

thereisstomachlining

andyardsofsmallintestine,

ureaandbile

andhydrochloricacid

andpoetry.

somuchpoetry.

theuglykindofpoetry,

thekindthatburns

onthewaydown

andhurtstwiceasbad

onthewaybackup.

itisnotpretty.

itisnotpoetic.

butit’sthere,

insideallofus.

wearemadeof

spinalfluid

andbacteria

andcytoplasm.

andpoetry.

somuchpoetry.

Iamnotpretty.

Ihaveneverbeenpure

orsoft

orsweet.

Iambeautiful.

dirtstillonmyshoulder

asIrisefromtheground.

scarsformingandhealing

likegalaxiesovermyskin.

Iambeautiful

inthewayIfoughtback

whenIwasburied.

Iturnedthedirtandmud

intosoil,

andgrew.

Acknowledgments

tomyparentsfornotquestioningthesixteen-year-oldgirlwhoannouncedshe

wasgoingtopublishabookonenightatdinner.shedoesn’tsayitoften,but

sheappreciateseverythingyou’vedoneforherovertheyears.

to andrea barzvi and penny moore for believing I could write a book long

beforeIbelieveditmyself.thankyouforbeingpatientwithme,fightingfor

me,andgenerallyjustbeingthebestagentsanyonecouldeveraskfor.

tosarasargentandtheteamatharperchildren’sfortakingaleapoffaithona

random teenager from the internet and hoping for the best. I’m eternally

gratefulforeverythingyou’veputintothisbook.

to natalie farina, nicole jakymiw, and sue silver for making high school

englishclassasafeplaceformetotry,fail,learn,andgrowasawriter.

tomyhometowndisneyprincessesforallowingmetobe100%myself,100%

ofthetime.thankyouforbeingthemostkindheartedandsupportivegroupof

girlsIhaveevermet.

to signe, alexa, catarine, sarah, ashley, jaden, and all the other people on

instagramwhohavebeenendlesslysupportingmeandmyworkoverthelast

fewyears.

and of course, to you. thank you for reading about my dramatic and messy

teenageyears.thankyoufortakingtheseheavyanddifficulttopicsseriously.

but most of all, thank you for making me realize that I was never alone

throughoutallofthis.thankyou.

AbouttheAuthor

PhotobyACVPhotography

CAROLINEKAUFMAN—knownas@poeticpoisononInstagram—began

writingpoetrywhenshewasthirteenyearsoldasameansofcopingwithher

depression. A year later, she started posting it online, and what started as a

personal way to combat mental illness eventually became an account with

hundredsofthousandsoffollowersacrosssocialmedia.Carolinegrewupin

Westchester, New York, andiscurrently a studentatHarvard University.In

the future, she hopes to attend medical school and continue growing as a

writer.

Discovergreatauthors,exclusiveoffers,andmoreathc.com.

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Bryksenkova. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By

paymentoftherequiredfees,youhavebeengrantedthenonexclusive,nontransferablerighttoaccess

and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage

andretrievalsystem, inanyformor by anymeans,whetherelectronic ormechanical,nowknown or

hereafterinvented,withouttheexpresswrittenpermissionofHarperCollinse-books.

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CoverartbyYelenaBryksenkova

CoverdesignbyJennaStempel-Lobell

LibraryofCongressControlNumber:2018938080

DigitalEditionJUNE2018ISBN:978-0-06-284469-9

Version05042018

PrintISBN:978-0-06-284468-2

18 19 20 21 22 PC/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

FIRSTEDITION

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